In The Dark
by ringanybells
Summary: Just a little look at what happens after the car chase, while Shawn is in the hospital.
1. Chapter 1

His senses were slow to return. Feeling was first. But it wasn't the agonizing pain that had pulled him into unconsciousness; it was an even more discomforting numbness. For the first time ever, his senses were failing him. The dryness of his mouth was the next sensation. It had been ages since he could remember anything passing his lips, specifically the pineapple smoothie he'd been enjoying in the Psych office while mulling over clues before driving to the storage yard. The strong smell of antiseptics pulled him from his memory of delicious goodness. For once, it was a welcome smell, much more welcome than the motor oil from the garage. As his mind focused more on the smell, the noise became apparent. The steady beeping that said he wasn't dead, despite the bullet wound, the head trauma, the blood loss, and his audition for stunt guy, his heart was still beating. He opened his eyes but couldn't make anything out. He resisted the urge to panic. Though it rarely happened, he felt off kilter when one of his senses was impaired, even though the others could more than compensate. He willed his eyes to focus faster. His desire to _know_ what was going on quickly overcame his black oblivion.

When his vision was finally clear, he looked around. There was still a small amount of light filtering in through the window, which placed the hour around dusk. He had probably been out for about six hours; his math wasn't the most accurate-not having been paying much attention to the clock on the auto shop wall. As his mind calculated the passage of time, his eyes were drawn to the lone figure in the room.

Standing with his back to Shawn, facing out the window, was his father. Shawn noted his stiff posture. His gaze swept to the chair next to Henry. Sitting on it was a newspaper, one that had suffered a lot of abuse at the hand of its reader. Shawn also noted several disposable cups in the trash, the white Styrofoam ones you got in hospital cafeterias, which had most likely been filled with coffee at some point. His eyes returned to his father's back; the man had not left his side since he'd been found. As if Henry could feel Shawn's gaze on his back, he spoke, "You know Shawn, you've done some pretty stupid things in your time, but this by far takes the prize." He turned around as he spoke.

Shawn took in his father's face. His eyes were red, from holding back tears, and there were dark circles under them. He felt bad for keeping his father from his bed and he felt worse for worrying the old man. A big part of him wanted to offer his father comforting words about how he would be fine and promise to never do anything like this again. But they would both know that that promise would be more or less hollow, so why bother making it. Shawn lived his life on the edge; he pushed the boundaries and did things his own way. There was no room for rules or caution in his world, for the most part. Being at a loss for how to ease his father's worry, he did what he did best. "Come on, this isn't the stupidest thing I've ever done. What about the time I climbed in the dryer? Or the time I practiced my lassoing skills in the living room? Or that time…"

"Ok, maybe not the stupidest, but it definitely makes the top ten." Henry stopped his son from continuing. Thinking about his son's more minor indiscretions calmed him. When he'd received Gus's call, his heart had momentarily stopped. While he wouldn't say it out loud, Shawn was the most important thing in his life. He'd spent too many years estranged from his son, there had been too much bad blood between them. He and Shawn were just starting to get to know each other, just starting to have a relationship. Losing him was not an option. "How do you feel?"

Shawn took a minute to do an internal check. "Numb, mostly, everything's a little hazy. The pain is gone though, which, let me tell you, is a nice change." He stopped talking for a moment, trying to piece together his memories from after the car chase. "What happened? I remember Lassie complimenting me, and then I must have passed out from shock."

Henry suppressed a smile. Hearing Lassiter call Shawn 'detective' had been one of the proudest moments of his life. Of course, it had been followed by one of the scariest when Shawn's knees had given out and he'd crumpled to the road. Henry had moved quickly to Shawn's side to check on him, only to discover blood once again seeping from the hole in his shoulder. He had quickly removed the dirty, bloody rag from the wound. By this time, Gus had appeared at Shawn's other side, holding the first aid kit from his trunk. He quickly opened two gauze pads and handed them to Henry, who immediately began applying pressure. Shawn was unconscious, his forehead cold and clammy, the skin surrounding the wound on fire. With nothing more to do but wait for the ambulance, Henry had simply sat there holding his son, listening to Gus tell Shawn he would be fine and watching Juliet pace back and forth, her worried eyes never leaving Shawn's face.

"You passed out." The events rolled quickly through Henry's mind, "but it wasn't from shock. It was from a combination of blood loss and dehydration. You see after you sustain an injury, like say a gun shot, you're supposed to seek medical attention. Not go gallivanting through the forest for hours or…or performing acrobatics while speeding down the highway. You're lucky you didn't lose your arm." The words were harsh, but then again, they usually were when he was worried. And Shawn had had him worried.

"On the plus side, if I had, I could have joined the circus, travelled the countryside as The Astonishing One-armed Soothsayer." He knew his quip was not what his father wanted to hear. "I wasn't exactly planning on getting shot, Dad. And I asked the nice men with the big guns to mail me to your house, but they weren't very cooperative." There was a slight trace of anger in Shawn's voice, being held hostage did nothing for his morale.

"You never should have gone to that yard alone. You're not supposed to go alone, Shawn. That's why you have a partner. That's why we work with partners, so things like this don't happen. You could have died, Shawn. Do you get that? If we hadn't gotten to you in time, if that guy thought you were more of a liability than an asset…" Henry trailed off. The image of Shawn dead on the auto shop floor instead of that crook, stole his breath.

"If you hadn't taught me everything you had," Shawn injected. He had spent a long time hating his father for the way he'd raised him. Even all the success Psych had had over the last few years had not erased all the animosity he'd had for his father. But what his father taught him had saved his life. Teaching him to kick out the taillight had allowed him to tell Gus where he was. Teaching him how to lose a tail had bought Lassiter and the others some time to find him. Honing his observational skills had helped him to unravel Garth's secrets and get that call to Juliet. And all those weekends at the shooting range had allowed him to put two rounds into his captor's engine.

Henry's eyes shot up to lock on his son's. He could hear the gratitude in Shawn's voice. He'd never heard it there before. Shawn had never once, in over twenty years, seemed the least bit grateful for the skills that Henry had spent years imparting on him. But it was there now. He wouldn't say the words out loud, but for once, Henry could read it on his face. For a second, Henry was too choked up to reply. He took a second to listen to the reassuring beep of the heart monitor before opening his mouth again, his lips tilted in a smug smirk. "I taught you not to get shot in the first place."

The gruff tone of Henry's voice said he was forgiven for scaring his father. He gently nodded his head, trying not to move too much. He allowed his father that moment of triumph before replying. "I'll remember that one for next time." Henry's smile disappeared as Shawn's grew.


	2. Chapter 2

Shawn watched as Henry ran his hand over his face, trying to wake himself up. "Dad, go home." Henry's head snapped to face his son, his eyes narrowing. "You're exhausted, go home and get some sleep."

Not willing to be told what to do by his own son, the elder Spencer stubbornly shook his head. "I'm fine, Shawn."

Shawn knew that neither of them were up for a battle of wills. "Dad, last night was poker night." Henry gave him a blank stare, not getting his point. Shawn decided to have a little fun with his father, knowing acting in his typical fashion would show his father he was fine. He went to raise his left hand to his temple, but froze as a jet of pain lanced through his arm. A look of concern flashed across his father's face, but Shawn ignored it, simply using his other hand instead. "You didn't get in from the game till 12," He knew that because he had stopped by at 11:30 when he was stumped with the case. "Your phone rang at 5:07, pulling you from a fishy dream. You considered ignoring it, assuming it was me, but then you figured if I was awake that early something must be wrong. When it was Gus's number on the ID, you were already up and getting dressed before the phone was to your ear." Shawn had sent the text messages to Gus' phone at 4:48, he figured Gus had needed at least a few minutes to decipher the texts and had probably waited till Lassie had called in the crime scene guys before calling Henry. "You spent the morning zigzagging through the forest trying to follow my trail. And you've been sitting here since they brought me in. There's no shame in being tired after all that, I know I am."

Henry was impressed. There were times, when if he didn't know better, he could believe Shawn was a psychic. He could certainly understand how he'd managed to convince the SBPD. But he wasn't about to let Shawn win that easily. "The call came in at 4:59."

Shawn just smirked. Gus was faster on the uptake than Shawn had given him credit for. "See that's even less sleep." Henry didn't look as though he was going to budge. "Fine, you're not tired. But Gus has been pacing the halls for ten minutes waiting for you to leave so he can come in here and yell at me."

"He doesn't have to wait," was Henry's only response.

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Yes, he does. It's part of the whole best friend thing." On Henry's obviously confused stare, Shawn elaborated. "You don't fight with your best friend in front of other people."

"Shawn, don't be ridiculous. I've seen you and Gus fight a million times. That's practically all you two do."

"That is categorically untrue. You've seen us bicker, you've seen us squabble, you may have even seen us have a row. But you've never seen us fight; how do I know? Because Gus and I have only ever had three fights."

"Shawn, you and Gus had a fight last week about whether Judd Nelson was better in the Breakfast Club or St. Elmo's Fire."

"First off, that wasn't a fight, that was an argument. Second off, everyone knows John Bender is way cooler than Alec Newbary. "

Henry ignored his son's pop culture defense "You're telling me that you and Gus have been friends for nearly three decades and you've only had three fights, a fight a decade is it?"

"Of course not, but yes, there's only been three." Shawn voice was exasperated, he hadn't meant to get into any of this with his father.

"When?" Henry's interest was piqued. He was curious what could actually cause Gus to get mad at Shawn.

Shawn hesitated for a second, but saw the determination in his father's eyes. "If I tell you, will you go home?" Henry nodded, so Shawn told him, "When he found out about Joy and I fooling around, after I took off that first time, and just after my accident." Shawn summed up the three fights.

Henry thought for a moment. Now that Shawn mentioned it, he remembered Shawn coming over last Christmas and telling him about the fight over Joy. And Shawn's running, which had occurred the morning after Henry had arrested his son, was another obvious one. As Henry remembered, he'd gotten an earful from Gus as well. But the third one stuck out.

The 'accident' Shawn was referring to had happened the summer after he had gotten his license. He'd been on his way home from Gus' house. He was sixteen and back then, he'd still been listening to his father, so he was behind the wheel of a sensible car. The crash hadn't even been Shawn's fault; for once his son had been doing everything he was supposed to- under the speed limit, seat belt on, hands at ten and two. The other driver, however, had just been coming from the bar. He'd had a BAC that was off the charts and two DUIs on his record. All in all, Shawn had been lucky. The belt had saved his life, even if it had cracked three ribs. The angle of impact had crushed the front driver's side, causing the steering column to break Shawn's leg in three places. The whiplash from the impact had given the kid a wicked concussion, and everyone else a scare when he didn't wake up for almost 18 hours. His left wrist had been caught between the steering wheel and the door, resulting in a compound fracture. But everything had looked so much worse to those who arrived on scene because of the broken glass that had gauged a dozen deep cuts into Shawn's face and arms, drenching the car in blood. But Shawn had been the lucky one, the other driver hadn't survived.

Shawn watched his father's eyes glaze over for a brief moment and knew immediately he was recalling the night of his accident. He knew the feeling, he had recalled those thirty seconds in perfect detail every time he got in a car for the next two and a half years. Which explains why his next vehicle of choice hadn't been a car; as soon as his physical therapist had declared him fit, he'd bought his first bike. That's what had started the fight between him and Gus. Gus had seen the bike and lost it, much like Henry. And Shawn had simply let Gus yell at him. _How could you be so stupid, Shawn? You nearly get killed in a car accident and then you go out and buy a _motorcycle? _Do you have a death wish? You know what your father calls them? I swear Shawn, you never think about anybody else. Do you have any idea what it was like to watch you in that hospital bed? Why would you buy a motorcycle? _Shawn hadn't stopped Gus, he'd let him yell himself hoarse, and when he'd finally finished, Shawn had explained. At this stage in their friendship, Gus was perfectly familiar with Shawn's ridiculous memory. When Shawn had informed Gus he spent every car ride he'd taken since the accident reliving it, Gus had calmed down. When Shawn had begrudgingly admitted he was afraid to get behind a steering wheel again, Gus had read the truth in his eyes. And just like that, the fight had been over. Shawn had eventually gotten over his panic attacks, one of his many jobs had helped with that, but he still preferred his bike.

Finally Henry could take it no more, he asked, "Why after the accident? That wasn't even your fault."

Shawn went to shrug his shoulders, but winced in pain instead. "He wasn't mad at me, he was scared. It was the first time either of us realized something could happen to the other. He just let the fear get away from him." He didn't feel the need to mention the bike's small role in the fight.

Henry nodded. He understood that, he'd felt the same way after Shawn's accident. "Alright, I'll go. But if you need anything, I'm only a phone call away."

Shawn nodded. "Thanks, dad, now go get some sleep. I'll see you for breakfast tomorrow?"

Henry nodded once more and then exited his son's hospital room. As he walked down the corridor, his eyes found Gus, pacing back and forth. "You can relax, Gus, he's awake." He watched Gus' shoulders straighten, as if a weight had been lifted. He had probably spent the last few hours trapped in his head, this situation so similar to the one when the boys were younger, so similar, and yet so different. He came up next to Gus and paused for a moment, "He wants to see you." Gus nodded and moved to retrace Henry's steps to Shawn's room. He had only made it three when Henry called back, "Just take it easy on him, it was a long day." Gus nodded and continued walking. Henry waited a moment, watching the now closed door, and then turned toward the elevators.

Gus stopped for a second before turning the door knob to his best friend's hospital room. He took a deep breath, stealing himself to once again face Shawn in a hospital bed. Then he turned the door knob and walked in. He started the rant before setting eyes on his partner, knowing it would be harder to speak once he was looking at Shawn. "You are an idiot."

Shawn bit back the smirk; he knew Gus had been waiting to yell. "It's good to see you too buddy." Shawn tracked Gus as he paced back and forth at the end of the hospital bed.

His initial rebuke having been met with no resistance, Gus didn't know how to proceed. Normally, Shawn would deflect his words, usually through the use of some vague 80s trivia, occasionally, he would outright deny Gus' observations. Today, however, it was mild acceptance. The only other time that had been Shawn's response had been another time he'd been injured. Being reminded of Shawn's teenage accident, while staring at his best friend in a hospital bed, stole his breath for a moment. But only for a moment, "Don't 'buddy' me, Shawn. This isn't one of those times where you can talk yourself out of trouble. You could have gotten yourself killed. What were you thinking going to the yard without me? Why don't you ever stop to think about what you're doing? One of these times your father isn't going to be around to find your ass, and then what will you do? You're not Superman, Shawn, you're not invincible." Gus drew another deep breath, ready to continue his ranting, but Shawn interrupted him.

Like last time, Shawn had had every intention of allowing Gus to yell himself hoarse. But Gus had hit a little too close to the nail with his observation that Shawn couldn't talk himself out of trouble this time. He had of course been referring to the chewing out that he had every intention of carrying out to perfection. But it had merely reminded Shawn of his captor's words, the ones he'd uttered right before shoving the gun in Shawn's face. Add to that the dig about his father and Shawn was no longer in a giving mood. But the line about Shawn not being invincible was what did it. He knew damn well he wasn't invincible. The excruciating pain he'd been living with for the last several hours reminded him quite well.

"Thanks for pointing that one out, buddy, cause man, the hole in my shoulder didn't clue me in. And neither did the concussion. I'm so glad I've got you around to state the obvious for me, really." His tone was harsher than he wanted; Gus had every right to be angry. But the words just flowed out. He attributed it to the fact that this whole situation had him very pissed off, an emotion he was only really familiar with when it came to his father. But his father had saved his life, both through the skills he'd taught him growing up and being the one to lead the cavalry to him. For once in his life, he knew he couldn't blame his dad for anything but helping him survive. So Gus was the only other outlet for his anger, the only person who'd be able to take the anger and forget it.

Hearing Shawn's voice, the anger in it, caused Gus to pause again and really look at his best friend. Shawn had looked bad earlier, when he'd first been rescued. Except being a little cleaner, he didn't look much better now. Gus let out a sigh. He knew Shawn knew what he'd done was stupid, just like he knew Shawn had probably spent most of his time in captivity kicking himself for winding up there. He didn't need Gus pointing out his mistakes, and he didn't need Gus telling him what could have happened. "I'm sorry, Shawn, I was worried. When I was standing in that yard and I got your text saying you'd been shot, with Lassiter ten feet away standing over a pool of your blood, it was like we were 16 again and your father was telling me you were in the hospital. Back then, I knew how close you came to dying, and since then we've had our share of close calls, but this was just too much. All I knew was that you were hurt, but it's not like I could sit bed side and just wait for you to wake up again. I didn't know where you were, I've never not known where you are before."

It was true. Since the day they met, the two of them had been practically inseparable. Through elementary and middle school, and especially in high school, they'd shared the same schedules, ate at the same lunch tables and went to the same parties. After graduation, when Gus went off to college and Shawn went off to see the world, Gus had been the only one to get regular updates. Even when Shawn had just up and left after his arrest, he'd called Gus later that night to tell him, of course, Gus had spent that phone call reaming him out for leaving. Even Shawn's parents hadn't been as in the loop on Shawn's whereabouts as Gus had been, he'd gotten calls from them more than once asking for a location or a number where Shawn could be reached.

"I'm sorry, too. I wasn't expecting anybody to be at the yard. I just wanted a cool setting for my big reveal." It was that simple, Shawn's flair for the dramatic had been the reason he'd called them down to the yard so early, that and wanting to get to the truck in time.

And just like that, it was over. Gus knew Shawn felt bad for worrying everyone, but being shot and abducted was more than enough punishment for that. "Just don't do that to me again, okay?"

Knowing he was forgiven, Shawn fell back into what had always been his role. "I promise, buddy. Next time some psychotic robbers want to hold me hostage, I will simply explain to them that they are then in charge of informing you of my whereabouts."

Whatever levity had been on Gus' face disappeared, "That's not funny, Shawn."


	3. Chapter 3

Like Shawn knew he would, Gus stayed with him for several hours. While physically the abduction had been hard on Shawn, he was fairly certain that psychologically it had been worse on his father and best friend. The only difference between the two being that Henry had faith in Shawn and the skills he had taught him. Sure, Henry had been worried, afraid he'd lose his son, and desperate to find him, but at the same time, the officer in him had been able to rationalize everything. It was an important skill for a cop, the ability to distance oneself at least enough to keep your thinking clear. His father had spent Shawn's abduction tracking him through the woods, focusing on finding clues and following Shawn's trail. Gus had had much less to focus on. So Henry had been able to focus on the chase and trust in his lessons, but Gus had had no such luxury.

The two of them talked about nothing of importance. Shawn had summed up his entire experience in as few words as possible, trying to spare Gus the images that were even now running on loop, in perfect clarity, through his mind. He'd skipped over the threats on his life and his little nap in the woods. He asked more questions than necessary about how Gus and Juliet had been able to follow his trail of breadcrumbs regarding the case. When Gus had mentioned taking Jules to his place, Shawn had felt a twinge of guilt. He'd have to talk to the blonde detective soon, to make sure things between them didn't get any weirder than they had been.

Like both he and his father, Gus had gotten little sleep. Around nine, Shawn could tell his best friend was exhausted. Wanting to let Gus know he was free to leave, Shawn let out a slightly dramatic yawn. But Gus wasn't fooled. "Please, Shawn, that was the worst fake yawn I've ever seen."

Shawn didn't even try to hide it. "You're exhausted, Gus. You've been up longer than I have. Go home and get some sleep."

Gus thought about saying no, but he could read Shawn's face. His best friend was still exhausted, despite his brief stay in the land of the unconsciousness. Gus relented, standing up. "Yea, you're right. I have to go see one of the doctor's on my route tomorrow morning, but I'll come by for lunch?"

A true smile lit Shawn's face, the first since he'd been awake, "Jerk chicken?"

Gus held out his fist, "You know it." Shawn's return bump was weak, but it was there, which is all Gus really wanted. "See you tomorrow, man."

Shawn waited for the door to his room to close before he let out the pained groan he'd been keeping in for what seemed like hours. The pain meds had long ago worn off, but Shawn wouldn't ask for more. Sure they took away his pain, made laying in this bed a little more bearable, but they also dulled his senses. As the pain had returned, little by little, his vision had gotten sharper, his hearing better. The hazy cloud that had been wrapped around his brain had retreated. Sure it felt like there was a baboon shoving a screwdriver in his temple and for some reason it felt as though all the blood in his arm had been replaced by fire, but at least he could think straight. And he'd choose a clear mind over no pain any day.

Of course, having a clear mind didn't make the pain any less strong. It just allowed him to focus on it. And now that he was alone, he was going to take a few minutes to fully experience the pain, before using his extensive skills to focus on something else. Unfortunately, his relishing in pain was cut short when the door opened again. He didn't hear the creak over his moan, but the new arrival heard his pained cry and moved fast to his bedside.

"Spencer, are you alright?" Lassiter couldn't keep the concern from his voice. Sure, the psychic was a pain in the ass, and Lassiter had considered shooting him on more than one occasion, but seeing him in pain was not something Lassiter enjoyed.

Shawn was only slightly surprised to be interrupted from his private indulgence in the pain; he'd known it was too good to be true. He allowed his pain induced moan to end abruptly. "Heya, Lassie, what are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to check in and see how long I'd be Spencer free. I want to be able to get as much pleasure out of that time as possible." He was trying to save face. They both knew it. He'd been worried about Shawn, he wanted to make sure the psychic was okay. "Wait a second; I'll go get a nurse."

Shawn's response came out quicker than he'd intended, the smallest hint of desperation present, "No, Carlton, I'm fine." Lassiter threw him a look, whether for the use of his first name or the refusal to take meds, Shawn wasn't sure.

"Spencer, you were writhing in pain 2 seconds ago. Your meds have worn off. You already went several hours without them; no one will fault you if you take them now." Carlton was trying to speak reason to the younger man, he should have known better.

"I'm fine, Lassie, really, no pain, no gain and all that." When Lassiter looked as though he was going to ignore Shawn's request and get the nurse anyway, Shawn caved. "They do more harm than good, I'm better without them."

The detective threw Shawn a questioning look, the kind that said 'I'm not that stupid.' "Trying to play hero now will do you no good. No one's here to see it."

Shawn bit back the comment that Lassie was, in fact, here. It had been a long 24 hours, and while he could easily invent a story, it just wasn't worth it. So he told Lassiter the truth. "I'm not trying to be anyone's hero, Lassie. The meds mess with my head. They cloud everything; it's like there's a fog between me and the world. The pain is easier to deal with, having my senses taken away is too much." He stopped there, even though there was another reason he wanted to stay off the meds. He would be trying to sleep soon. And if there was anything his two weeks in the hospital had taught him at age 16, it was that the pain meds did nothing to foster a good night's sleep. While awake, the meds dulled his senses, while asleep, they sharpened everything. It had been bad after the accident, he had no plans to see how much worse it could get this time around.

Lassiter wanted to argue, but he saw something in Spencer's eyes that stopped him. It was his decision, in the end, it didn't matter what Lassiter thought. If Shawn was willing to live with the pain, then who was Lassiter to intervene? Letting the argument drop, he turned to the other man's words. "I would think that being a little out of touch with the world would be a good thing right about now."

Shawn tried to read Lassie's eyes, wondering at the motive behind his question. But after a moment, he accepted that Lassiter would not force the meds on him. Knowing none of his other visitors would have been so gracious, he decided Lassiter deserved an answer. "For anyone else, that's probably true. But for me…" Shawn tried to find the words to explain it to Lassie, but couldn't. "Well, I'd rather experience the pain with all of my senses present than be numb without them." It didn't make much sense, and if Shawn was functioning on full capacity, he probably could have explained it better. But Lassiter seemed to understand.

He nodded his head, "I guess that makes sense. Probably has something to do with your 'gifts,' right?" He threw Shawn a skeptical look, but Shawn merely shrugged.

"Maybe; all I know is last time, they refused to listen to me. They were two of the worst weeks of my life." Lassiter's confusion was evident on his face, Shawn answered his question before he could ask. "When I was a teenager, I was in a pretty bad car wreck. My dad said that two weeks of sensory deprivation would be much easier to live through than the pain of three cracked ribs and a leg broken in multiple places." Remembering the pain that had come when his father had finally relented and told the doctor to wean him off the meds, he had been thankful that his father had made him wait. This pain wasn't as bad as it had been then, he could take this. "He was probably right, but it's my decision this time round."

Lassiter nodded, trying to remember if he'd heard any mention of a car accident involving the younger Spencer before. This incident wasn't ringing any bells. When he'd looked into Shawn's background, he'd only bothered to pull up his adult record. If he'd been in an accident before turning 18, it wouldn't have come up. "Multiple leg fractures; what the hell did you hit?"

Shawn resisted the urge to roll his eyes, "I didn't hit anything. He hit me. And it was before I got my bike, so don't try and blame it on that either."

Lassiter seemed appropriately chastised. "I didn't mean to imply anything. You said you were a teen, it's not uncommon for them to get into accidents."

Shawn smirked at the detective's attempt to backtrack, "Relax, Lassie. It was a drunk driver, hit me head on. The angle popped the steering column right off the track- broke my leg in three places and fractured my wrist. Concussion had me out for almost 24 hours." Lassiter let out a low whistle.

"I bet Henry had fun arresting that guy."

"He never got the chance." He didn't explain further, he didn't have too. Lassiter just nodded his understanding. But he had long ago gotten over the accident. Instead he focused on Lassiter's last statement. "I take it you and my father had fun trekking through the woods?" He couldn't help the smirk on his face. He'd spent the majority of his weekends, from ages 6 to 15, on camping trips with his father, learning survival skills. He knew quite well what Lassiter had gone through. His father had probably been particularly crotchety with Shawn missing.

"Tell me how he does it? I mean, I'm a trained police officer. I can chase a suspect for a dozen blocks. But come on, how does he do it? How did you do it?" He'd been prepared to let it all go, but Shawn had given him the opening.

Shawn's smile grew just a little more. When he saw the anger rise on Lassiter's face, he relented. "My dad took me out to the forest for my first camping trip when I was six. We spent one night doing all the fun camping stuff. The next morning he gave me a fifteen minute head start. He said if I could elude him for an hour, we could have s'mores that evening. I lasted ten minutes. By the time I was nine, the time was three hours, and my success rate was 50:50. We spent most of his off weekends in the woods playing that game. By the time I was fifteen, I could elude him 8 times out of 10."

Lassiter resisted the urge to let out another low whistle. No wonder Henry had had no trouble in the forest. Another thought occurred to him. "Wait, did he really teach you to escape from a trunk?"

Shawn laughed, "Yea, when I was nine. I miscounted the hats so he locked me in the trunk," Shawn realized what he'd said a moment after the words were out of his mouth. "Not in a punishment way, he was just trying to teach me. It's a good thing he did, it saved my life."

Lassiter didn't know what to make of Spencer's story. It was so hard to believe that any father would put his son through that kind of training, but the proof was right in front of his face. He was tempted to feel sorry for the younger man, but there was something about the look in his eyes that said he wanted no sympathy. Whatever he had been taught growing up, and whatever he thought about it then, he clearly didn't mind so much now. Lassiter's eyes fell back on Shawn's face. While he had been in his own mind, evaluating what Shawn had said, Shawn had lapsed into silence. That silence was combined with a look of pain. It seemed like focusing on the conversation had allowed Shawn to ignore the pain, but with the sudden end, it had come back full force. Lassiter cast his eyes around the room, looking for a new topic, when his eyes landed on Shawn's bandage. "Is he the one who taught you to shoot, too?"

Shawn's eyes opened. While the grimace was still present, his eyes were as clear as ever. "Yea, he started taking me to the range when I was ten."

Lassiter felt his mouth drop, "Ten?"

Shawn didn't understand the older man's surprise. Hadn't he just finished explaining how his father had encouraged him to get lost in the woods in order to hone his evasion skills? "Yea, well, the range had an age restriction."

The tone of Shawn's voice brought a question to Lassiter, "Do you think your father would have taken you earlier if he'd been allowed?"

Shawn didn't have to think about the answer. He'd played hide and seek in the woods at 6 and his first round of 'count the hats' had been at age three. "Yeah, I think he would have."

Curiosity peaked, Lassiter spoke again, "Hitting the engine earlier, that wasn't a fluke, was it?" Shawn had put two rounds dead center in the engine, crippling the car. The fact that he'd made those shots from the hood of a moving car 50 yards away with an injured arm, hadn't escaped Lassiter.

Shawn saw the look on his sometimes friend's face. He considered lying to him, but knew that eventually, the man would see him shoot again; "No, Lassie, not a fluke. I've been nationally ranked in pistol and rifle since age fifteen. I ranked locally with the shotgun, but it's not my kind of weapon." Off Lassiter's shocked expression, Shawn shrugged. "My parents were fighting a lot when I was a teenager, Dad would go to the range to blow off steam. I went with him."

Lassiter's mind was reeling. There were less than 200 men on the ranking list, the best shots in the country. He considered for a minute asking Shawn's exact ranking, but then thought better of it. He didn't really want to know. Lassiter thought about the pieces of information. So far in the last 24 hours, he'd found out that Henry had trained Shawn to lose a tail, escape from a trunk, and shoot a gun. "Geez, Spencer, what did Henry think you were going to do with your life, be the next James Bond?"

The look Shawn threw Lassie screamed 'isn't it obvious?' "He wanted me to be a cop, Lassie. He wanted me to join the force, and he wanted me to be good at it."

It occurred to Lassiter that this was one of the few honest to goodness conversations that he had ever had with the psychic. For a moment, he was tempted to stop it, not wanting to get any closer to the other man than he already was. But like it or not, Shawn wasn't going anywhere. And the man had more than proven himself as a valuable asset. Plus he knew that this conversation was keeping some of the pain at bay for Shawn. So, he asked the next question, not sure he wanted the answer, "Why didn't you?"

Instead of the denial or anger Lassiter expected, Shawn laughed. "What, join the force? Come on, Lassie, can you see me in a uniform, really? Besides most of the academies won't take people who have been arrested." Lassiter nodded, remembering Shawn's slight indiscretion at 18. "Besides, by the time I was out of high school, my dad and I were not speaking. The last thing I wanted was to follow in his footsteps."

Lassiter nodded. Once again silence fell in the hospital room. The two of them had been talking for almost an hour. Lassiter figured that Shawn must be in a decent amount of pain because he'd barely made a joke in the whole time they'd been talking. The detective found it weird to have a normal conversation with Shawn, it had never happened before in four years. With another lull in the conversation, the pain once again became evident on Shawn's face. "How are you feeling?"

Shawn hadn't been sure if Lassie had caught onto the fact that he'd been using the conversation as a distraction. Knowing that the detective had known and was trying to help him keep the pain at bay, brought a small smile to his face. "I didn't know you cared." He waited for Lassiter's response, the drop of his mouth into a frown to show he wasn't amused, but it didn't come. So Shawn answered his question, "Talking helps, keeps my mind off the pain."

Lassiter nodded, "You sure you don't want me to get a nurse?"

Shawn shook his head, "No, I'll deal."

Lassiter shook his head, he thought it was a stupid decision. But then again, Shawn had been known to make them on occasion. "It's getting late, how are you going to get any sleep when you're in pain?"

Shawn suppressed both the smile at Lassie's concern and the shudder at the thought of a night of drug-enhanced dreams. "I wasn't planning on getting much sleep tonight."

Falling back into familiar territory, Lassiter rolled his eyes. "Spencer, you need sleep to heal."

Shawn noted the concern in the officer's voice, but he also read the intent in his eyes. Without a good reason, Lassie would get a nurse. "Trust me on this one, Lassie, those drugs will not help me heal or sleep."

Lassiter thought about arguing further, but there was a haunted look in Shawn's eyes. The investigator in him said it probably had something to do with previous experience, but he let it go. "Fine, it's your call."

"Thank you, Lassie. Now you should go home and get some sleep. You're going to have to be on the top of your game for the next couple of weeks with me out of commission."

"I'm sure I'll manage just fine." Lassiter stood, buttoning his jacket. He was glad to see that the little heart to heart he'd had with Spencer wouldn't affect their relationship. While the psychic was usually just a general pain in his ass, his jokes were occasionally laughable and Lassiter appreciated the banter every now and then.

"Are you sure, Lassie, because I did just solve the great ice cream caper of the century? What are you going to do if Miss Wanderly shows up? You'll never find that falcon on your own." Shawn was pleased to the see the smile that spread across the detective's face before he turned and moved toward the exit.

"Goodnight, Spencer."

Shawn let his own smirk spread across his face. So what if he had a night full of pain ahead of him? So what if he was stuck in this bed for at least 2 days? So what if he had to wear a sling for the next month? He'd solved the case, proven his skills, and performed stunts right out of _Lethal Weapon. _And on top of that, he'd always be able to cherish the image of Lassiter huffing through the forest, trailing behind his father.


End file.
